Chapter 30: Ashes of the Hollow

The smoke never cleared. Even as dawn crept over the jagged ridges of Bloodroot Hollow, the skies remained veiled in gray. Sulfur clung to the wind like a curse, thick enough to choke a dragon. Elyra hovered on the edge of a shattered cliff, eyes scanning the horizon. Below her, the land was broken—gouged by fire and claw, scarred by old wars and older wounds.

Kael was already there.

He stood at the base of a charred tree, the last remnant of an ancient glade. The bark was blackened, the roots exposed, like a skeleton trying to claw its way free. His wyvern circled above in lazy, restless loops, sensing something wrong in the ground beneath them.

Elyra dismounted with a grunt, boots hitting the dirt with a soft thud. Her dragon let out a soft whine as it landed behind her. It was still weak, still recovering—but loyal to a fault. She ran her fingers along its snout, murmuring soft words until it curled up beside a crumbling boulder, eyes half-lidded.

Kael didn't speak as she approached. His expression was harder now. Not just cold—haunted. He held something in his hands, wrapped in a strip of worn cloth. When Elyra stepped beside him, he slowly unwrapped it.

A shard of obsidian.

But not just any shard. It pulsed faintly, like it held a heartbeat. Lines of red light crisscrossed its surface like veins, and the moment Elyra saw it, she felt a strange pull in her chest—like the air had turned heavier, like gravity had found its anchor.

"What is that?" she asked.

"Proof," Kael said flatly. "That the gate is weakening."

She frowned. "The gate… beneath the forest?"

He nodded once. "This shard was part of the original seal. Vespera found it in the ruins of an old drake shrine buried near the vale. Something cracked it from the inside."

Elyra stared at the stone. "You're saying whatever's down there… it's trying to break free?"

Kael didn't answer immediately. Instead, he lifted his gaze toward the horizon. "No. It already has. This is just the beginning."

A silence settled between them, heavier than the smoke. The ground trembled faintly beneath their feet—a subtle quake, as though the Hollow exhaled.

Then a scream tore through the morning.

It echoed across the valley—shrill, animalistic, and very human.

Kael's sword was drawn in a flash. Elyra ran toward the sound, her hand on her dagger, heart pounding. The slope was steep, and the path crumbled underfoot, but they moved fast, darting through ash-laced underbrush until they broke into a clearing.

Vespera stood alone in the center.

Her cloak was torn. Blood painted her arms, though none of it seemed to be hers. Around her, the bodies of two rogue dragon riders lay twisted and broken—one with his throat torn open, the other missing an arm.

Elyra rushed to her. "What happened?!"

"They came early," Vespera muttered. Her voice was low, hollow. "I was scouting the ridge. They ambushed me."

Kael stepped past them, crouching by one of the corpses. "They didn't stand a chance."

Vespera didn't respond. Her eyes were locked on the ground—on a trail of cracked stones leading deeper into the Hollow.

"Something else was here," she whispered.

Kael glanced at her. "A beast?"

She shook her head. "Not one of theirs. Not one of ours."

Elyra followed her gaze and felt her stomach twist. The footprints were wrong—long, clawed, but too symmetrical, too deliberate. Like something that walked upright, but wasn't human. The tracks burned faintly in the soil, as if seared by flame.

"They're getting closer to the surface," Kael said.

"Who is?" Elyra asked, though she already feared the answer.

Kael met her eyes. "The Hollowborn."

The name rang like a bell through her memory. She'd heard it once, whispered by the old keepers of her home—creatures born not of flesh, but of shadow and sorrow. Creatures that only came when the world forgot how to hope.

Vespera knelt beside one of the corpses and plucked something from the man's belt—a sigil. The metal was warped, melted at the edges.

"Sanctuary steel," she said. "They used to be ours."

Kael's face darkened. "No. They were never ours. Just borrowed swords. And borrowed swords break."

Elyra stepped away from the clearing, her thoughts swirling like ash. This wasn't just a battle anymore. It was an unraveling. The forest. The Hollow. The rogue riders. The obsidian shard.

It was all connected.

A soft rumble echoed through the ground again.

This time, it didn't fade.

A great fissure split the stone near Kael's feet, and a rush of cold wind burst upward—carrying with it the scent of rot and fire. The very earth seemed to scream.

Vespera spun, her hands raised in a defensive spell. Kael braced himself. Elyra drew her dagger.

And from the crevice… a hand emerged.

Not flesh. Not bone. Something else.

Smoke poured from its joints. Its fingers were too long. Its nails gleamed like metal. It clawed at the earth like a blind thing, searching.

Kael lunged, sword flashing. He severed the wrist in one clean stroke, and the limb dissolved into ash—but not before something hissed from the crevice.

A whisper.

It didn't use words. It didn't need to.

Elyra heard it in her mind. I see you.

She staggered back, clutching her head. The whisper was gone—but the chill remained.

Kael grabbed her shoulder. "We need to move. Now."

"But where?" she gasped.

"Down," Vespera said.

Kael nodded grimly. "We find the gate. We close it. Or we die trying."

The sky above them rumbled again—this time not from the ground, but from wings.

Dragons.

Not rogue riders. Not theirs.

But wild ones.

Drawn by the scent of what had stirred.

Bloodroot Hollow was awake.

And so was everything buried beneath it.